


An Angler's Guide to Tying Knots

by colonel_bastard



Category: Ozark
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: Russ offers the end of the line to Roy.  “You ever tie an anchor bend before?”Roy shakes his head.  “Show me.”They crouch side by side, their heads bent together to observe Russ’s big, nimble hands as he weaves the knot into existence.  Although he’s surely capable of doing so in the blink of eye, this time he’s taking it slow, each step deliberate and precise for the sake of his audience.  Roy tries to watch and learn, he really does— but he keeps getting distracted by thatlookon Russ’s face.





	An Angler's Guide to Tying Knots

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't watched ozark and you're just here for the smut, all you need to know is this: roy petty is an openly gay fbi agent who's gone undercover to seduce closeted criminal russ langmore in the hopes of blackmailing him but WHOOPS he accidentally went and fell in love with the guy along the way. 
> 
> here's their Big Scene in episode 5: [spoilers ahoy!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aejUAbNaTCw)
> 
> anyway tagged for mildly dubious consent because russ is unaware of roy's identity as a federal agent.
> 
> there was no tag for "federal agent is consumed with guilt and regret and is slowly starting to realize that he's in way over his head."

-

-

-

They leave for the dock while it’s still dark out, passing a thermos of coffee back and forth between them in the cab of Russ’s truck. It’s part of their routine now; coffee on the way there, whiskey on the way back. They’re on the water before the sky turns pale, so that by the time they reach their favorite spot, the dawn has only just begun to break. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect. 

There’s a heavy mist over the river today, the air cool and crisp. Russ idles the boat while Roy splashes down into the shallows and wades ashore with a rope over his shoulder. He finds a good spot for the mooring stake and drives it into the earth, tying off their upstream rope with a buntline hitch. Once it’s secure, Russ kills the engine and brings the downstream line ashore, coming up on Roy just as he finishes planting the second stake in the solid ground of the treeline. Roy dusts his hands off as he stands up.

“All set.”

Instead of stooping down, Russ offers the end of the line to Roy. “You ever tie an anchor bend before?”

Roy shakes his head. “Show me.”

They crouch side by side, their heads bent together to observe Russ’s big, nimble hands as he weaves the knot into existence. Although he’s surely capable of doing so in the blink of eye, this time he’s taking it slow, each step deliberate and precise for the sake of his audience. Roy tries to watch and learn, he really does— but he keeps getting distracted by the look of keen concentration on Russ’s face, his brow furrowed and his mouth slightly pursed with effort. It’s almost the exact same expression he makes when he’s working Roy open with his fingers, his focus and commitment to the task absolute. Roy had a lot of expectations about Russ before he ever met him, but the capacity for such laserlike attention was not one of them. Russ just keeps surprising him. 

He can’t resist. They’re so close, and it’s so quiet, and Russ is making that _face_ — when the knot is complete and Russ finally looks up at him, Roy takes hold of the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss. Without thinking Russ leans into it, his hands already reaching for Roy in answer before common sense catches up and yanks him backwards in alarm. 

“Shit, man,” he hisses, scanning their surroundings for witnesses. “Are you crazy?” 

“I’m sorry,” Roy blurts out. “I couldn’t help it.”

The raw honesty in his voice startles both Russ and himself, and they end up staring at each other with the same stricken look on their faces. Russ looks away first. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he mumbles. “But… not out in the open. You know that.”

If there’s anything that could snap Roy out of a moment of uncomfortable self-reflection, it’s the idea that anyone or anything can dictate what he can and can’t do. His first impulse is to scoff and say _who gives a fuck what anybody thinks?_ But then he sees the fear on Russ’s face, and it helps temper his outrage into sympathy. Russ doesn’t need a lecture about the futility of attempting to conform to societal standards. He just needs a little bit of nudging and a lot of reassurance. 

“Hey, come on,” Roy says, reaching out to place a hand on Russ’s knee, his tone going soft. “We’ve got to be alone for at least a mile in every direction. It’s fine. We’re fine.” 

Russ glances down at Roy’s hand and then up at Roy’s face and Roy can see that he wants it, wants it so bad that he’s actually considering breaking his own rigorous code of conduct. It can’t be easy for him. There’s decades worth of scar tissue built up around his wants and needs, his instincts painfully honed for survival. A month ago he would have shoved Roy into the dirt and told him to back off. Now, just by hesitating, he’s already come so far. But then—

“Sorry,” he mutters again, clipped and unhappy.

And before Roy can say another word, he stands up and puts himself out of reach. Roy doesn’t want to move too fast and chase him up to his feet, so he stays in a crouch over the mooring stake, turning his attention to the knot that Russ was attempting to teach him a moment ago. He explores it with his fingertips, trying to find and follow the line of the rope through the interlocking curves. 

“That’s all right,” he says. “I should’ve asked. It just feels so good to be out of that motel room, you know?”

Now he does stand up, casual, his gaze directed out across the water. Russ is searching the woods, checking for an onlooker behind every tree trunk. He’s got his game face on, blank and impassive. When he gets like this it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Roy may have been living undercover for almost two months now, but Russ has been living undercover his whole life. He knows how to play his cards close to the vest. Roy just keeps talking, nice and easy, the pair of them standing there and staring off in opposite directions. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Roy ducks his head with a laugh. “I’m, uh, I’m a big fan of that queen-sized bed. I just thought— it might be nice to try something different.” He shrugs. “Be somewhere different.” 

He squints into the mist, shifting his weight from foot to foot to check his balance. Sometimes it makes him nervous, the way even he can’t always tell when he’s playing a part or telling the truth. 

“Hey,” says Russ.

Roy turns to look at him. When their eyes meet, Russ takes Roy’s face in his hands and kisses him with everything he’s got. 

The only witness is a nearby kingfisher, calling across the water in a full-throated rattle that momentarily drowns out the sound of their muffled, heavy breathing. Roy grabs at Russ’s chest as they stagger together, their respective equilibriums thrown into chaos by the collision. Then Russ shifts one arm to clutch the span of Roy’s shoulders, his other arm curled around his back, holding him close and steadying them both. Roy pushes his hands up into Russ’s hair, knocking off his baseball cap as he goes. They kiss recklessly, artlessly, drunk on the fresh air. 

Russ may be the shorter man but he’s built like a goddamn tank. When he advances, Roy has no choice but to retreat, powerless to resist as Russ drives him further back into the treeline. The terrain isn’t exactly forgiving and Roy is picking his way blind and backwards; twice he stumbles and almost wipes out on the ground, but both times Russ catches him and sets him upright again. Relentless, he keeps steering Roy in reverse until they reach a tree big enough for his purposes. Then he shoves Roy up against the trunk and pins him there with the full weight of his body. 

“Fuck—” Roy gasps, and if he has anything else to say it gets swallowed up when Russ covers his mouth with his own. 

Ever since he first showed up drunk at Roy’s motel room, Russ has kissed him like he’s making up for lost time. His hands are all over Roy, cradling his face, pawing at his chest, his shoulders, grabbing his hips and yanking him always closer. It’s been a long while since Roy was handled this rough, and it excites him far more than he ever expected or would ever admit. He has to bite back an undignified moan when Russ pushes a knee between his legs, his thigh grinding against Roy’s growing hard-on, the friction almost unbearable even through two pairs of waders. God, and he used to think he was such a top. 

“Ahh, fuck,” Roy wheezes, his head thrown back, the bark of the tree digging into his skull. “Russ— _ah_ —”

Russ gives a low, throaty chuckle as he nuzzles at Roy’s neck. 

“You better hush up,” he rumbles. “You’re gonna scare the fish.” 

“Oh, really?” Roy pants, carding his fingers through Russ’s shaggy hair. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? The fish?”

“Well, sure,” Russ smirks. “Among other things.”

Before Roy can fire off a retort, Russ rocks his weight forward again, flattening Roy against the tree trunk and putting so much pressure between his legs that he has to suck in a breath between his teeth to keep from crying out. In a bid to stifle himself, he leans forward and presses his face against Russ’s shoulder, hooking his arm around the back of Russ’s neck to hold him close. His other arm he manages to wriggle into the space between them, at which point he forcefully grabs Russ’s dick through the front of his waders. 

Now it’s Russ’s turn to almost lose his balance, his weight lurching forward as his body arches into Roy’s touch. He’s obliged to shove one hand past Roy to brace himself on the tree trunk, his other hand twining into Roy’s hair, cradling his head against his shoulder. Roy is close enough to hear Russ’s heartbeat pounding just below his ear. When he moves his hand in a long, slow squeeze, that heartbeat pounds even harder, while Russ’s grip in his hair tightens into a fist. Another squeeze and Russ crowds up against him, his breath furnace-hot down the back of Roy’s shirt collar. And on the third try, Roy finally manages to coax a sound out of him. 

“ _Hah,_ ” Russ exhales, right on the cusp of a moan. “Robbie.” 

Roy screws his eyes shut, still caught off guard even after all these weeks. He wasn’t prepared for a nickname. _Robert_ is a deliberate choice, something that he puts on as consciously and intentionally as a jacket. But _Robbie_ — that’s all the sudden, unexpected warmth of having a blanket placed around his shoulders by friendly hands. He can’t remember the last time someone gave him a nickname like this. It’s been so long since he let anyone get comfortable enough to offer one. 

_But you had to let Russ get comfortable,_ he reminds himself. _For the job._

He banishes the thought as soon as it crosses his mind. There’s no reason to think about the job right now. It won’t change anything. After all, in every undercover operation there’s bound to be a stretch where all you can do is bide your time and wait for your opportunity. And since there’s unlikely to be any sort of business-related opportunities out here in the middle of nowhere at the crack of dawn, then he might as well bide his time. 

Russ says it again, thick and strained: “Robbie.” 

Roy answers: “I’m here.” 

And it’s the truth. 

He gladly succumbs when Russ uses his grip in Roy’s hair to pull his head back and into a kiss. God, he loves the way Russ kisses him. There’s so much heat and so much hunger that Roy feels sexy just to be on the receiving end of it. He can hardly fathom being worthy of such ardent affection.

“Russ—” he gasps between kisses. “Mmm— _mmm_ —”

When one hand isn’t enough, Russ trades his grip on the tree trunk for a secondary grip on Roy. Of course, that leaves him with no anchor to maintain his balance. The moment he feels the shift in equilibrium, Roy can’t help but seize it to his advantage, pushing off from the trunk and using Russ’s own momentum to pivot him around and pin him there instead. Russ makes no effort to resist. They even manage to keep the kiss more or less unbroken as they go. 

Roy just can’t get enough of Russ; not his taste, not his smell, not the sound that he makes when Roy takes his face in his hands. Russ kisses him slow and deep, his hands settled at Roy’s hips, holding him close. Roy purposefully shifts his weight so that his thigh presses against Russ’s hard-on. Then, without breaking the kiss, he slides his hands over Russ’s chest— and slides the fishing vest off Russ’s shoulders. 

But it’s too far. There’s a startled hitch in Russ’s breathing, a sudden, anxious tension that hums through his body as the alarm bells of old habits erupt in warning. Right away Roy lets go of the vest, his open hands held up in reassurance. Their mouths break apart from each other, still close enough to share the same breath.

In a soft tone that neither condones nor cajoles, Roy asks, “Do you want me to stop?”

Russ won’t look him in the eye. On instinct he’s already let go of Roy’s hips, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go entirely, his tentative hands now resting on Roy’s midsection, shadowing the curve of his ribs. Roy tilts his head down to try and meet his gaze, but Russ remains resolutely downcast— and, predictably, stone-cold silent. 

Not wanting to crowd him, Roy starts to take a step back. Instantly Russ tightens his grip in response, his voice clipped and hoarse.

“Don’t.”

Roy shivers at the urgency in his tone. He angles his head down again, insisting on eye contact.

“Don’t what?”

With a short exhale to steel his nerves, Russ finally raises his head to look Roy in the eye. His voice is steady. 

“Don’t stop.”

Sometimes Roy is genuinely amazed by how far they’ve come since _The fuck is wrong with you? Get out of my truck!_ After that violent rejection, he never would have predicted that Russ might one day look at him with such explicit, unmistakeable desire. It reels him in like a gravitational pull, his body drifting closer and closer, his hands still held up in surrender. He won’t do anything until he’s sure. So he asks. 

“What do you want?”

With deliberate intent, Russ reaches out and takes Roy by the wrists. It makes Roy shiver again, his sense memory reminding him of all the times that Russ has pinned his wrists before— over his head, behind his back, anything that leaves his body exposed and helpless while Russ still has one hand free. Of course Roy has been trained in half a dozen different self-defense techniques that could break any kind of hold Russ tried to put on him… but where’s the fun in that.

This time Russ is gentle, his grip not for restraint but for guidance as he resolutely brings Roy’s hands back to his chest. He looks down to make sure they’re settled on his fishing vest, right where they were before he flinched. Then he looks up to hold Roy’s gaze with his own. He’s made up his mind.

“I want you to finish what you started.” He rubs his thumbs against the underside of Roy’s wrists, his mouth quirked with affection. “What do _you_ want?”

Now it’s Roy who has to look away, unable to contained a frustrated huff of laughter. If only Russ knew how many people had asked him that question over the years. If only he knew how long Roy has been unable to answer. Even the answer _I don’t know_ is a lie, because Roy knows that he wants... _something._ It’s just something vast and unknowable, something tantalizing and beyond his reach. He could never put it into words. 

Except out of nowhere, all at once, the answer couldn't be more simple or more obvious. With a ragged sigh, Roy reaches up to brush a lock of sweat-damp hair from Russ’s forehead.

“You,” he says, helpless. “I just want you.”

There it is again: the truth. Russ has a funny way of drawing that out of him. 

He draws something else out of him, too— a long, low groan of anticipation as Russ uses his grip on Roy’s wrists to guide his hands into pushing the fishing vest further open over his chest. 

“Well, then,” Russ breathes. “Here I am.” 

Roy can’t get to him fast enough.

Their mouths collide with enough force to bruise. Right away Russ grabs Roy’s head in both hands, kissing him so hard that their teeth scrape together in protest. He’s only willing to release one hand at a time in order to let Roy pull the fishing vest clear of his arms, leaving it free to be tossed aside into the underbrush. Roy comes for the waders next, stripping first one suspender and then the other off Russ’s broad shoulders, Russ now actively pulling his arms loose so that Roy can peel the garment inside-out down the length of his torso. 

For a split-second Roy considers stopping there. It would be so easy to just reach down inside the front of the waders and jerk Russ off in his pants. Wouldn’t take long. Hell, as far as hasty outdoors hook-ups are concerned, that’s probably what Russ is expecting; something quick and relatively discreet. It would be enough for him. 

But it wouldn’t be enough for Roy. 

Roy wants more. He wants _everything._

So he doesn’t stop at Russ’s waist. He keeps stripping down the waders until they’re inside-out over Russ’s thighs, exposing the button and fly of his jeans. 

And before Russ can react, Roy drops to his knees in the dirt. 

“Jesus,” Russ chokes out. “Oh, fuck.” 

His breath accelerating, he nonetheless has the presence of mind to plant his feet and lean back against the tree trunk, bracing himself as Roy works open his belt buckle, his hands uncharacteristically clumsy with urgency. It doesn’t help that Russ is twining his fingers into Roy’s hair, _fuck,_ Roy can feel Russ _staring_ down at him, can feel the agonizing intensity like the sun through a magnifying glass, burning the top of his skull as he fumbles the zipper open. He clenches his hands around the waistband of Russ’s jeans and boxer-briefs— but before he can pull them down, he hesitates. He looks up. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” 

Russ makes a strangled sound that might almost be laughter.

“What’s a’matter, city boy?” he wheezes. “You losing your nerve?”

 _God,_ Roy thinks, looking up at his flushed, grinning face. _He’s beautiful._

But he’s not about to say something like that out loud. Instead, he leans into the space between Russ’s open zipper, nuzzling his mouth against Russ’s hard-on through the faded camo print of his boxer-briefs. 

“Ahhh, shit,” Russ hisses, digging his fingernails into Roy’s scalp. 

Still mouthing at Russ’s groin, Roy curls his fingers around both waistbands, gathering Russ’s jeans and underwear in his grip and then slowly, slowly peeling them down over his thighs. He tugs them out in the front as he goes, making sure to drag the elastic of the boxer-briefs all the way along the length of Russ’s cock before he lets it spring free. Russ gives a startled, involuntary gasp as he’s exposed to the chill of the early morning air— a gasp that gets released as a rough hum of satisfaction when Roy wraps one forefinger and thumb around the base of his erection, applying pressure and warmth in equal measure. 

“Mmm,” Russ sighs, his head tipped back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Yeah?” Roy smiles up at him. “I haven’t even started yet.” 

He gives him an affectionate squeeze, then leans in and uses the tip of his tongue to lap up the smear of pre-come from the head of Russ’s cock. Russ lets out a whine through clenched teeth, his hips canting eagerly towards Roy’s touch. Roy answers with a long, slow lick from root to tip, flattening his tongue to cover as much of Russ as possible, finishing with a thorough drag over the head that fills his mouth with Russ’s arousal and leaves him reeling.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless. “You taste so fucking good.” 

That sends Russ past the point of verbal coherence, his voice juddering out of him in wordless acclamation. They’re so close. Roy holds off for just a few seconds longer, sucking his teeth to coax up a little more spit. Then, when the inside of his mouth is sufficiently warm and wet, he finally, finally leans in and fastens his lips around Russ’s cock, taking in as much of him as he can comfortably hold. 

“Oh, buddy,” Russ exhales, his fists clenched in Roy’s hair. 

God, he really does taste good. Without breaking the seal of his lips, Roy strokes his tongue against the underside of Russ’s length, bobbing down so that the head rubs against the roof of his mouth as he goes. It makes Russ moan and jerk forward, desperate for Roy to take more of him, to take everything he has to give— but Roy’s only getting warmed up. He concentrates on just the tip for now, swirling his tongue back and forth until he’s licked it clean and left it meticulously painted with multiple coats of his saliva. When another drop of pre-come wells up in the midst of his ministrations, he wicks it away and hungrily swallows it down. The motion of his throat tugs on Russ’s dick, teasing him with suction. 

“Ah—!” Russ cries out, his back arching. “God _damn_ — c’mon, Robbie— c’mon, now—”

He squirms against the tree trunk, his grip in Roy’s hair turning into a subtle but plaintive pull, urging him to do it again, again, _please._ In a hundred million years, Roy never could have predicted how much it would fucking _turn him on_ to hear Russ Langmore pleading with him to suck his cock. It’s making him so hard that it’s actually starting to hurt, his erection jammed at an awkward angle inside his jeans. He’s too impatient to spend the time taking it out, so he just grabs himself through the front of his waders and manages a hasty readjustment, enough to offer some relief and allow him to devote his undivided attention to his work. 

An old saying comes to mind: _any job worth doing is worth doing well._ In Roy’s personal opinion, this advice should be applied to blowjobs most of all. 

He takes his mouth off of Russ’s dick just long enough to look up at him and wink.

“Hey,” he says. “Try not to scare the fish.” 

Russ snorts with laughter while Roy takes him back in again, struggling to form a proper seal with his lips this time; they keep wanting to pull into a smile. While he gets that under control, Roy places his left hand on Russ’s hip to brace himself, then shifts his right so that he’s got the whole hand wrapped around Russ’s cock. Now Russ is completely enveloped in warmth— anything not covered by Roy’s hand is covered by his mouth, and as Russ realizes this, his laughter falters into a heavy groan of appreciation. For a moment Roy just holds him like that, relishing how hot and hard Russ is in his grip, how thick and full on his tongue. There’s no other rush quite like it. Sometimes he thinks he would choose this over anything else.

He holds it for the duration of a long, sweet kiss. Then he starts to move. 

Right out of the gate he sets a vigorous tempo, bobbing his head and sucking in earnest, his hand squeezing and pumping to the same rhythm. It sends a shockwave through Russ’s body, a jolt up and backwards that rebounds into a lurch forwards, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed so he can watch Roy work. He always wants to watch. When Roy steals a glance upwards, he sees Russ staring back at him, awestruck and breathing hard. 

“Yeah, buddy,” he pants. “That’s good. That’s real good.”

Roy hums and rubs his thumb against Russ’s hip in acknowledgement, a gesture that prompts Russ to cover that hand with his own. At the same time Russ releases his other fist so that it won’t interfere with Roy’s pace, switching instead to resting his unresisting hand on the crown of Roy’s head, carried along for the ride. He loves to put his hands on Roy. It’s a luxury that he’s never been able to afford before, this open invitation to touch, and now that he has it he can’t get enough of it. And to think— he was so skittish at the start. 

Between the hush of dawn and the vaulted canopy of the trees, the acoustics are sublime. Every slick, wet pop of suction— every strained, guttural moan— the forest echoes with the sounds they’re making together, point and counterpoint, their breaths and bodies working in natural harmony. Roy gazes up at Russ, his lips sliding back and forth with his grip, his eyes heavy and half-lidded with satisfaction. He wants Russ to see how much he’s enjoying this. 

And Russ sees him. In fact, judging from the spellbound look on his face, he doesn’t see anything else. His expression is a poignant combination of wonder and disbelief; he still can’t believe this is actually happening. And with a pang of certainty, Roy knows it’s not this particular out-of-doors experience that’s amazing him. It’s the fact that he has someone to share the experience at all. Overwhelmed, Russ brings one trembling hand to Roy’s face, tracing the cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

“Look at you,” he whispers, dazed.

Roy has to avert his eyes like he’s flinching away from something scalding hot. It’s not just that Russ wants him— it’s the _way_ that Russ wants him, massive and raw and undisguised, like looking directly into the light of the sun. When Roy bows his head, he can feel Russ watching him like he’s a mirage in the desert, one that will disappear the second Russ lets him out of his sight. 

It’s a good thing Roy’s mouth is occupied. Otherwise, right then, he might have said something really stupid. 

Since he can’t say anything, he’ll just have to _do_ something instead. And in the heat of the moment there’s really only one thing that comes to mind. 

For the first time since he started, Roy takes his hand off Russ’s dick. That’s just so he can brace both hands on Russ’s hips, his eyes closed and his back arched in anticipation. He sucks in a deep breath to prepare himself. Then he pushes forward and takes Russ in all the way to the hilt, his nose buried against Russ’s belly, his throat stretched to the limit. He swallows hard against his gag reflex. He’ll hold it for as long as he can. 

“Ah, _fuck!_ ” Russ barks, and then he’s got both hands clenched in Roy’s hair again, his grip pulled tight enough to burn. 

Roy swallows a second time, fighting against the survival instinct to spit him out and breathe. Fuck breathing. He’ll breathe later. Right now he’d rather have every inch of Russ inside of him, filling him up until his eyes water from the strain. The longer he manages to keep him down, the more Russ starts to twitch and shake, his breathing laced with a thin, keening whine, his boots shifting in the dirt like his whole world is being thrown out of balance. That’s exactly what Roy wants to do. He wants to shake him to the core. 

He tries for a third swallow but it’s too much. In the next instant he’s wrenching his head off and to the side, gagging for air, his face flushed red and streaked with drool. He wants to dive right back in, but his breath hitches and he has to drop his chin to his chest, heaving and gasping like a goddamn amateur. Fortunately for his dignity, Russ is either too inexperienced or too smitten to care. He rakes his fingers through Roy’s damp hair, his voice reduced to a husky growl. 

“Damn, boy,” he murmurs. “You really like that, huh?”

Roy raises his head to proudly meet his gaze. “I fucking love it.” 

And to prove his point, he opens wide and pulls Russ all the way back into his mouth again, his whole body undulating with the effort, from his throat to his aching hips. Russ surges like he’s been hit with a cattle prod, one foot stomping at the ground in a visceral, unruly spasm. 

“ _God_ Almighty!” he bellows, and for a second Roy thinks he’s about to come right there. 

But then Russ sags, wracked with shudders, and then he’s tugging Roy off of him because it’s too much, too fast. Roy lets himself be pulled away, his forehead coming to rest on the curve of Russ’s downy stomach, his mouth hanging open and panting for air. In truth, it’s a welcome reprieve for his overextended jaw. And for a moment he allows himself to just savor the nearness of Russ, the smell of him, the heat. He’d almost forgotten that it could be like this. God, he never realized how much he missed it.

“Russ—” he starts to say, but he bites his tongue before he can go too far and make another mistake. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be quick and dirty and shameful, something that he could twist into blackmail all on its own. But like any good undercover agent, he had to let the story tell itself, following whatever path of opportunity opened before him. And then Russ wasn’t ashamed. Then he didn’t run away. He stayed for the night, and made Roy coffee, and took him on a two-hour truck ride just to show him a fishing spot on the Big Piney River. No, Roy won’t be able to use Russ’s fear against him. It will have to be something else— something that really hurts. 

But not today. Right here, right now, Roy doesn’t have to think about anything else.

“ _Robbie,_ ” Russ moans, and Roy thinks, _Close enough._

“Gonna make you come,” he rasps, rubbing against Russ’s belly, his tongue lapping at the base of his cock. “Mmmm— Russ— let me make you come.”

“Please,” Russ gasps. “ _Please._ ”

His cock bobs and twitches in the space between them, the head swollen and dark, the slit glistening with need. Ravenous, Roy caresses it with his tongue, groaning in unabashed pleasure at the taste. Russ bites off a curse and ruts his hips forward, begging, _begging_ for Roy to finish him— and when he asks like that, Roy can’t refuse him anything. He only has one condition.

“Come in my mouth.” The very thought makes Roy lick his lips, already bruised with effort. “I want to swallow it.” 

“Better take it, then,” Russ wheezes. “‘Cause I ain’t gonna last much longer.”

He sounds like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry, his lungs and throat all backed up with a tidal wave of emotion. Roy tilts his head back to look up at him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His knees are throbbing in protest against the cold hard earth and he would stay here forever if he could. 

“Let me,” he pants. “Let me.”

It’s the last thing he manages to say before he fills his mouth with Russ’s cock. From the way they both groan in tandem, it’s impossible to say who enjoys it more. 

“Yeah,” Russ grunts, clutching at Roy’s head. “C’mon, now— _c’mon_ —”

Roy uses one hand to grip the base of Russ’s dick and braces the other on Russ’s hip for leverage. Then he fastens his lips and starts bobbing his head, sucking with all the force he can muster. Russ catches on to his rhythm right away, thrusting to match Roy’s tempo until he’s actively fucking his mouth, sliding again and again over Roy’s eager, hungry tongue. At first Roy keeps pace with him, mindful and deliberate. But as Russ’s fingers tighten in his hair and Russ’s cock pumps harder into his mouth, Roy finds himself… letting go. 

He makes sure Russ knows it. He lets his grip go slack, his neck loose and compliant, the movement of his head now completely controlled by Russ’s hands and hips. And when Russ becomes aware of it, he doesn’t hesitate. With a possessive snarl, he sets right in with a new tempo, thrusting fast and deep into the sheath of Roy’s mouth, a pace that’s designed to lead him straight to climax. Roy just holds on to his hips and takes everything that Russ is willing to give him. 

“Goddamn—” Russ grits out between clenched teeth. “Fuck— c’mon— ah— _ah_ —”

Roy’s lungs are roaring like an overheated engine, desperate for oxygen while he holds his breath to keep from choking. It’s making him dizzy, his head spinning and his groin pounding with pressure, but there’s no fucking way he’s about to tap out now. Drool leaks out of his mouth and turns the suction of his lips into something loud and obscene that echoes through the empty trees. He can take it. He knows he can take it. He never wants to let go.

“Oh shit—” Russ locks up at the knees. That’s more than enough of a tell, but he’s considerate enough to warn Roy anyway. “Here it comes— ah— _fuck_ —”

Roy closes his eyes and opens his throat as Russ climaxes, first with a grunt and then with a yell, his head thrown back in defiance. As his grip jerks and shudders, Roy takes control of the rhythm again, rolling and twisting his mouth in order to wring every last drop out of the orgasm, determined to make it last for as long as possible. After all, the better it is, the more likely Russ is to let him do this again. And just like he wanted, he gets to swallow it all, hot and thick and still, somehow, never enough. 

“Buddy,” Russ groans. “Oh, buddy.” 

Roy takes him right to the edge, right up until Russ’s knees are on the verge of buckling from overstimulation. Then Roy exchanges his mouth for his hand, cocooning Russ in a warm, safe grip so he can bring him down nice and slow. He eases him off, squeezing to the gentle rhythm of a resting heartbeat, steady, steady. He hates the way his mouth feels so empty— but he loves the way that Russ’s cock twitches against his palm, still woozy with aftershocks. And he adores the way that Russ slumps against the tree, utterly spent, reaching up with one hand to push the shaggy, sweaty hair out of his face. Roy tracks that hand with his eyes, following it over the crown of Russ’s head and then down to the back of his neck, where Russ rubs absently at the stiff muscles. Big, strong hands like that; he probably gives a killer shoulder massage. Roy will have to investigate further. 

Russ’s cock is so warm in his grip. Roy can’t help himself— he has to lean in and plant one last kiss on the head of it, one last admiring stroke from the tip of his tongue. Russ sucks in a quick breath and then releases it in a prolonged shudder of approval, still reeling in that post-orgasm haze. It’s a beautiful sight to see: Russ Langmore, all fucked out and basking in it, his heaving lungs filled with the fresh morning air, his face tilted up towards the light of dawn. Roy sits back on his heels to admire the view, his lips and chin slick with spit, his wrist scrubbing absentmindedly at the mess. 

And he thinks, against his will: _I could get used to this._

Fuck it. He can’t wait anymore. Shifting his weight up onto his knees, Roy rips the suspenders off of his shoulders and shoves his waders down as far as he can manage. The motion instantly gets Russ’s attention, and he watches like a hawk as Roy works his way through belt buckle, button, and fly, until finally he can open his jeans and strip down just enough to haul out his cock and take it in hand. 

For a split second that’s almost enough to take the edge off. Then the initial wave of relief is eclipsed by a feverish rush of pressure and heat, and Roy loses track of everything else except how badly he needs to come. It makes him crumple like an empty beer can, his shoulders hunched and his chin tucked to his chest, his free hand groping blindly for something to brace himself. When his fingers brush denim he clamps his grip around Russ’s thigh, anchoring his kneeling position as he starts jerking off hard and fast, desperate for release. With his head hanging down, he stares half-seeing at the forest floor, at the twigs and the leaves and the dirt, his field of vision bracketed by Russ’s boots. God, he can still _taste_ him on the back of his tongue.

Eyes glazed, he doesn’t even notice Russ reaching for him— not until Russ slips a hand under his chin and tilts his face upwards, leaving him nowhere to hide. Roy knows he must look like an absolute disaster, his hair all wild and disheveled, his mouth swollen and smeared with drool. But even so, even though he’s a goddamn trainwreck, Russ still looks at him like he’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen. He wants to watch. Russ always wants to watch. 

“Go on,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Lemme see it.” 

Roy can’t even begin to contain the moan that bubbles out of him at the command. He burrows his chin into Russ’s palm, one hand still clutched at Russ’s thigh for balance while the other pumps at a mounting tempo between his legs, beating off a staccato rhythm in counterpoint to his shallow, shaky breathing. It’s a point of pride that he never breaks eye contact. Russ growls his approval, the curl of his fingers tightening around Roy’s jaw. 

“Uh huh.” He pushes his other hand into Roy’s hair, gathering a fistful at the crown. “That’s right. Go hard, boy. I _know_ you ain’t shy.” 

Damn right he knows it. He knows it better than most. If it weren’t for that first bold kiss in the cab of his truck— that breezy, confident self-outing on the stream— _I only fuck guys that want to get fucked_ — if it weren’t for that original proposition in the bar, Roy casually plucking the phone out of Russ’s hands to input his number, their fingertips grazing with the ghost of a static shock. In the end, if it weren’t for Roy’s complete and utter lack of shyness, they wouldn’t be here at all. 

And now here they are. 

“Fuck,” Roy pants, wringing his grip and making himself shudder. “ _Hnh_ — I wish I could go back. Fifteen minutes. I just— _ah_ — I just wanna suck your cock again.” 

He cries out with pleasure when Russ yanks on his hair, forcing his head back until his mouth is open and gasping. With the hand still gripping Roy’s chin, Russ rubs his thumb back and forth over Roy’s bottom lip, rough enough to hurt. 

“Fucking A,” he breathes. “You got one hell of a mouth on you. Jesus. Your fucking mouth.”

Insatiable, Roy licks and kisses at the pad of Russ’s thumb, urging him to go further. Russ doesn’t need to be told twice. In the next instant he slips the digit inside, hooking it behind Roy’s bottom teeth while Roy moans in gratitude, his eyes rolling back in his skull. It feels so good to have Russ in his mouth again. He could get lost in it. In fact he _does_ get lost in it, all fives senses telescoping in on this single event, his tongue probing at Russ’s thumb like a blind man feeling out the face of a loved one. He doesn’t even realize he’s stopped jerking off until Russ tightens his grip in his hair, giving it a sharp, punitive tug. 

“C’mon, now,” he rumbles. “Get back to work. You ain’t done yet.” 

Roy gives an inarticulate whine, his neck arched and drawn like a bow. Somehow he manages to find Russ’s gaze and hold it with his own. Then he starts pumping his fist, slow at first, slow and staggered, until gradually his momentum builds like a train pulling out of the station. He winces when the knot of his throat bobs up and down in a painful swallow, gulping down the drool that welled up when Russ stuck his thumb between his teeth. Even so, even if Russ wasn’t keeping him pinned, Roy would still keep his head cranked back at this cruel, punishing angle. He refuses to miss a single second of the way Russ is looking at him right now— teeth bared, breathing hard, his brow furrowed with some complex, unnameable emotion that makes Roy struggle for air. 

“That’s it.” Russ tugs his thumb behind Roy’s teeth, goading him like a set of spurs. “C’mon, buddy, lemme see it. I wanna see you come.”

“ _Fuck_ —” Roy has to wrench his mouth free, too overwhelmed to hold on any longer. “Ah, Russ— _mmh_ —”

It’s a good thing that Russ has that steadying grip at the crown of his head. Otherwise Roy might topple right over backwards, his sense of equilibrium pinwheeling out of control, all coordination gone except for his hips thrusting helplessly into the motion of his fist. Russ keeps him upright with one hand, the other carding through Roy’s damp hair, his palm smoothing the sweat from his forehead. God, he’s incredible. It leaves Roy at a decidedly uncharacteristic loss for words. All he can do is stare up at Russ, his eyes wide and pleading, desperate to be understood. And to his relief, Russ smiles weakly in response, his head dipping in a shaky nod.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” 

“God—” Roy whines, his neck aching, his cock tense and throbbing in his hand. “Just— tell me to come. Please— tell me—”

He whines again when Russ takes his face in both hands, holding Roy in place as he leans down towards him, near enough that their foreheads almost touch. 

“Do it,” Russ says. “Come for me.”

“ _Ah_ —” Roy’s back arches. “I’m—”

And that’s all he manages to say before Russ closes the distance between them in a forceful, decisive kiss. Overwhelmed, Roy grabs on to the back of Russ’s neck and holds on for dear life as orgasm crests and breaks inside of him like a tsunami wave, his cock pulsing in his hand, his guttural cry of release poured straight into Russ’s mouth. Russ devours the sound, both hands on Roy’s face to hold him steady while he kisses him senseless, his jaw working up and down as he floods Roy’s mouth with his tongue. Roy hasn’t been kissed like this in a long, long time. He wonders if Russ has ever kissed anyone like this before. Maybe he had someone when he was younger— maybe he’s never had anything more than what he’s paid for— either way, here and now, he kisses Roy like he’s got nothing left to lose.

Roy has to fight to stay upright as climax ricochets through his body, one fist clenched in Russ’s hair for an anchor while the other pumps relentlessly between his legs, harder and harder until he’s seeing stars, until he just can’t take anymore. Then he keeps going— harder, _harder_ — Russ’s hands on his face and Russ’s tongue in his mouth and it feels so _so good_ that Roy can’t bear for it to be over so he just keeps going and going until he’s about to scream. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” he yelps, and finally he doubles in on himself, the last of his release splattered onto the dirt between Russ’s boots. 

And then it’s over. The trees are quiet again. Climax hit Roy like a wave and now it recedes from him like one, the aftershocks ebbing out of him, his senses dazed and reeling. He never actually decides to stop jerking off. He just somehow ends up with both hands braced on Russ’s hips for balance, his head hanging down between them while he labors to catch his breath, his pulse roaring in his ears. The cool morning air is a balm on his overheated lungs. He drinks it down in huge, greedy gulps, a rhythm that breaks into a shuddering gasp when Russ strokes the top of his head, soft and soothing. 

“There we go,” Russ murmurs. “Nice and easy.” 

Roy sighs and rocks forward until his head nudges against Russ’s belly. His whole body aches with exhausted satisfaction, every single synapse awash in color and light. _The Aurora Borealis._ He saw it once, on a fly fishing trip to the Copper River in Alaska. God, that was a lifetime ago. 

“Hey,” Russ says. “C’mere.”

He reaches down to get a grip under Roy’s arms and tug gently upwards, encouraging him to stand. Roy allows himself to be pulled up to his feet, only to discover that his legs are as weak and wobbly as a newborn colt’s, his knees erupting with pins and needles. He’s so unsteady that he almost pitches backwards, but then Russ pulls him forward into the safe harbor of his arms. Roy slumps gratefully against Russ’s chest, looping his arms around that sturdy neck and burying his face in the crook of Russ’s shoulder. Russ gives a rumble of contentment, one arm wrapped around Roy and holding him close, the other raised up to cradle the back of his head, his fingers entwined in Roy’s sweaty hair. He scratches his nails and Roy shivers, burrowing in closer, wishing they were in bed so Russ could be on top of him; wishing they were naked so they could be skin to skin. 

“Goddamn it,” Russ chuckles, rubbing up and down Roy’s back. “That was a fuck-ass crazy thing to do.” 

“That was incredible,” Roy grins, nudging aside Russ’s shirt collar so he can nuzzle his mouth against the freckled skin beneath. “ _You_ were incredible. God, I love it when you talk like that. So fucking sexy.” 

Flustered, Russ squeezes him tighter, turning his head to press a hard kiss against the curve of Roy’s ear. That action speaks louder than any words ever could, a spontaneous demonstration of wordless devotion that burns Roy’s skin like a brand. He closes his eyes and hides his face against Russ’s shoulder, willing himself to get lost in the slow, steady rhythm of Russ’s breathing. His heart lurches when he notices that every exhale is tinged with a satisfied hum. He wonders what Russ is thinking right now. He barely knows what he’s thinking himself. All he knows is that it wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

This is dangerous. The longer he stays like this, the harder it will be to let go. He’s already thinking about calling off today’s fishing effort and driving straight back to the motel room to waste another day in bed. Taken by itself, it would be a harmless enough diversion— but commitment is a slippery slope, and changing a little plan now could open the floodgates to changing a bigger plan later. He can’t afford to surrender a single inch of his resolve. 

Focusing all of his willpower, he stirs and shifts his weight, forcing his arms to unwind from around Russ’s neck. Russ follows his lead and loosens his own grip in response, allowing Roy to pull back enough for a kiss, his hands settling on Russ’s face as their mouths connect. It’s a quiet kiss, as soft and definite as the final chord at the end of a nocturne, or perhaps the last punctuation mark in a long, lovely poem. For just one moment longer, Roy allows them both to linger here, content.

Then he breaks the kiss with a teasing smirk. 

“So,” he says. “Think there’s any fish left out there?”

Russ manages a thin laugh, still visibly dazed. “Maybe the deaf ones.” 

Roy sticks his tongue out. “Just so long as they taste the same.” 

Before Russ has a chance to say anything that might change his mind, Roy uses the momentum of the joke to propel himself into a step back, then another, then another, until he’s safely out of arm’s reach. Russ is left leaning against the tree, his waders tangled around his knees and his soft cock hanging out of the front of his jeans. That reminds Roy to tend to his own, and he gets on with putting himself back together, tucking his dick back in his pants before pulling up his waders and slipping the suspenders over his shoulders. When he finally looks up again, Russ is still just standing there, watching him with a distant, distracted expression. With his shields back in place, Roy gestures smugly at Russ’s open jeans. 

“You gonna use that for bait? Don’t think I’ve ever seen a worm that size before.” 

“Fuck you!” Russ laughs.

It shakes him out of his stupor, and he gets his dick back into his jeans before pushing himself off from the tree with a prolonged groan of protest. Then he hauls his waders up while Roy stoops to collect the fishing vest that he threw into the bushes, offering it to Russ with a casual shrug. 

“Sorry I didn’t fold it,” he winks. “I was a little busy at the time. Don’t know if you noticed.” 

“Man, shut up,” Russ takes the vest and puts it back on. “You are something else, you know that?”

Roy preens and pushes a hand through his hair. “Mmm, something good, I hope.”

Instead of a sarcastic response, Russ lowers his gaze, his voice soft. “Best I ever had.”

Roy’s guts lurch upwards like he’s just missed the last step in a long staircase. It’s not fair, the way Russ keeps catching him off guard like this. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t figure out if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say or because he knows _exactly_ what he wants to. Goddamn it. 

“C’mon,” he mumbles, his eyes averted. “First one to catch a fish buys the beer tonight.” 

He doesn’t trust himself to look back so he just starts walking, sore and stiff-legged, staring at the ground as he makes his way to the boat to collect his gear. Fuck, he can’t even decide if this was a good idea or not. It was for the job, right? Remember, that’s what this is all about, getting the job done. So this was strategic. Establishing trust— expanding boundaries— hell, he’s undercover, he’s got a role to play, expectations to meet. This was all a part of his plan. 

His gaze downcast, he doesn’t see it until he’s almost on top of it: Russ’s baseball cap, lying where it fell when Roy pushed it out of his way, as he so often tends to do. Frowning, Roy crouches and scoops it up from the ground, brushing off the leaves that cling to the fabric. He can hear Russ’s heavy footfalls approaching, so he rearranges his grimace into an apologetic smile and stands up to offer the hat in his outstretched hand. 

“Here,” he says. “You dropped this.”

Russ raises an eyebrow. “I think you mean _you_ dropped it.” He indicates his fishing vest, dusting off an imaginary smear of dirt. “It does seem to be a habit of yours.” 

Roy gives a rueful chuckle. “Guess I felt like making a mess today.”

“You’re the mess,” Russ says, fond and familiar.

Roy swallows hard. _Honey, you don’t know the half of it._

He’s still holding out the baseball cap. And when Russ reaches out and takes it from him, their fingertips graze with the ghost of a static shock that almost makes Roy jump. He did that on purpose, Roy realizes in amazement, as Russ pushes back his hair, tugs on the cap, and gives Roy a playful, knowing wink. 

“C’mon, city boy,” he tosses his head. “I’m about to owe you some beer.” 

He turns and heads down to the water while Roy stands and watches him go, his chest aching with something that he can’t — or won’t — identify. God, it’s really not fair. He wishes they had time. He wishes they’d met somewhere else. 

He wishes he hadn’t already made up his mind. 

 

 

 

 

________________end.


End file.
